UC-MRLF., 


$B   2bO   751    

SONGS    OF    EXILE 

By 
Herbert    Bates 


-__  WALTER 


OATEN   STOP   SERIES 
V 


SONGS  OF  EXILE 

BY  HERBERT  BATES 


BOSTON  COPELAND  AND  DAY 
M  D  CCC  XCVI 


COPYRIGHT  1896  BY  COPELAND  AND  DAY 


CONTENTS 

Songs  of  Exile  Page   i 

Exiles  of  Plain  2 

A  Song  of  the  Drouth  12 
Charter    Day     Poem,     University     of 

Nebraska  15 

Home  20 

Prairie  22 

Cold  23 

On  the  Prairie  24 

The  Pioneers  25 

Spring  on  the  Prairie  26 

Far  Away  28 

The  Giant  Wolf  28 

Peisinoe  29 

The  Winter  Sea  30 

At  Rest  31 

Within  the  Gates  32 

The   Coming  of  the  Storm  33 

Sea  Gulls  34 

Alas,   the  Weary  While  35 

In  Spring  35 

The   Brook's  Good-Night  36 

The  Elm  37 

Among  the  Oaks  38 


988590 


CONTENTS 

Lone  God  Page  39 

Song  Homes  on  Hills  40 

In  Some  Sweet  Place  of  Sunset  41 

The  Heavens  are  our  Riddle  42 

Transiency  43 

And  Love,   they  Say,   shall  Fade  44 

Who  are  ye  that  Haste  Away  ?  45 

The  Message  46 

Before  the  Battle  47 

Grand  Manan  Island  48 

Behind  the  Barriers  49 

Da  Capo  50 
Thine    Eyes    are  Mirrors    of   Strange 

Things  5 1 

Baccalaureate  Hymn,  Harvard,  '90  52 

Class  Day  Ode,   Harvard,  '90  53 

A  Song  of  Fallen  Leaves  54 

Death's  Door  55 

In  the  Silence  of  the  Sunset  56 

At  Evening  57 

A  Memory  58 

Praeterita  5  9 
There  is  a  Music  in  the  March  of  Stars     60 

The  Day  is  Done  61 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 


FROM  sea  and  plain,  from  prairie  sprent 
With  riotous  sunflowers  indolent, 
From  billows  flashing  bloom  of  spray, 
From  many  an  alien  place  they  stray  — 
These    rhymes.       No    arduous    flight    their 

song,  — 

Awed  honor  to  earth's  swift  and  strong 
And    sweet.       Night's    vast,     the    dreamy 

boon 

Of  odorous  noon, 
Dread    instancy    of    Death,    the    might    of 

love,  — 

All  rapture,  all  above 
That  lifts,  enchants,   appeals,  —  music  that 

bears 

The  key  of  tears,  — 
Worship    and    awe    and    wonder,  —  these 

have  stirred 
This  answering  word. 
And  these  to  thee  I  bring, 
Who  brought  me  spring,  — 
Dearest    and    wife.      Be    all    that    love    has 
done, 

Love's  dower  alone. 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 


EXILES    OF    PLAIN 

A    DISROOTED    FIR-TREE    IN    A    PRAIRIE 
TOWN 

HOW  didst  thou  ever  come 
So  far  from  thy  heaped  rocky  home, 
Tree  of  the  hills  and  sea  ? 
What  fate's  divorcement,  what  abrupt  exile, 
Severed  thy  stem  and  led  thee  here,  like  me,. 
By  many  an  obstinate  mile 
Shut  from  the  dear,  barred  bliss  of  all  that 

used  to  be. 

Thy  light  wind-poising  sprays 
Perhaps  in  summer  days 
Hung  o'er  some  tide-gorged  cove, 
By  cool,  remote,  reef-barred  Atlantic  bays, 
Fog-gated,  mountain-walled, 
Where  red-beaked  gulls  would  rove 
In  clamorous  flocks,  and  sleep 
Like  bubbled  foam-heaps  on  the  glassy  deep,, 
When  all  the  winds  were  still. 

And  there  thou  stoodst,  and  sea-caves  under 

thee,  — 

The  pebbled,  shell-strewn  caverns  of  the  sea, 
Where  curious  fish  came  nosing,  rolling  slow 

2 


EXILES    OF    PLAIN 

In  the  cold  clear  swaying  swell,  — 

And  overhead  thou  feltst  the  breezes  blow  : 

The   hard  north  wind,  that  sharpened    like 

miracle 

The  distant  shores,  and  drew 
From  far-off  isles  the  blue 
Dreamed  veil  of  distance,  till,  o'er  miles  of 

sea, 

Thy  brethren  answered  thee 
From  where  they  stood  on  some   sea-breast- 
ing promontory  ; 
The  keen  north  wind,  glad-eyed, 
Song-hearted,  triumph-strong, 
With  flawless  blue  of  pale  sky  pitiless 
And    tingling    life,    who    caught    from   thy 

stirred  tress 

Sweet  scent,  balsamic,  like, 
Alas,  the  odorous  summonings  that  strike 
My  senses  as  I  bend  above  thee  here, 
And  bid  the  dead  past  near  ! 
Like  seaweed,  tinged  with  sea, 
Gathered  and  sent  memorial  to  me, 
Which,    when    I  placed   it  in  clean  water, 

gave, 

Even  to  that  pale  water  of  the  plain, 
Waif  of  some  thunderous  rain, 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

The  harsh,  sweet  scent  of  the  Atlantic  wave, 

Stinging  my  eyes  to  saltness  with  this  scent 

So  richly  redolent 

Of  all  the  empurpled  wealth  of  clouded 
main, 

Drawing  me  back  again 

To  walk  the  pebbled,  ocean-beaten  floor, 

And  hear  the  backward  roar 

Of  the  resorbent  anger  of  the  deep. 

So  thy  scent  wakes  from  sleep 

Old  days  of  north  wind,  when  I  giddily 

Clambered  the  bastions  high 

Of  eastern  crags,  and  pierced  the  caverned 
ways 

That  riling  sheep  had  tracked, 

Burrowing,  woolly-backed, 

To  reach  some  vantage-point  of  cliff,  and 
see, 

Beneath,  the  green  foam  spreading  thunder- 
ously j 

And,  following  in  their  track, 

I  stood  alone,  on  some  cleft  pinnacle, 

And  saw  the  sombre  swell 

Heave  shoreward  under  all  the  rippled  ranks, 

To  beat  against  the  rocky  barrier-banks 

That  set  God's  limit  to  the  world-wide  sea. 


EXILES    OF    PLAIN 

All  this  thou  bringst  to  me  ; 
And  then  the  picture  changes,  and  the  south 
(Not  there  the  wind  of  drouth) 
Drives  from  his  tented  camp 
His  fog-hosts  of  the  damp, 
To  shut  into  the  silence  of  the  hoar 
And  century-hearted  sea 
The    youth   and    green    redundance    of  the 

shore. 

Once  more,  tumultuously, 
I  hear  the  trumpets  of  the  east  wind  blow 
The  onset  of  the  embattled  air, 
The  summons  of  the  gale  ; 
And    watch    the    gray-heaved    sea,    sprent 

fiercely  pale, 

With  spouting  spume  of  wrath, 
And  the  wind1  s  serpent  path, 
Foam-written,  undulous  along  the  waves, 
And  hear  the  choking  caves, 
The  barking,  surly  cannon  of  the  deep. 
Along  the  seaward  steep, 
Besieging  billows  shoot  their  foamy  towers  ; 
Eastward,  the  ranged  scud  lowers  ; 
And,  seaward  far,  I  catch 
Glimpses  of  staggering  ships  that  match 
Their  power  with  the  plumed  ranks  of  sea 

5 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

And  this,  —  discountried  tree,  — 
All  this  has  once  been  thine 
As  it  has  once  been  mine  — 
Thine,  whose  sweet  scent  to  me 
Is  mixed  memorially 
With  the  keen  savor  of  the  wind-rent  brine. 

Tree  of  the  rocky  nest,  of  pinnacles 
Where  only  the  bird  dwells, 
Nor    smoke   of  men,   nor  fields    bestreaked 

with  plows, 

Nor  care-bewrinkled  brows 
Come  ever  to  intrude 
Upon  thy  stern,  stone-rooted  solitude  ; 
Alas  !  that  thou  shouldst  stand 
An  exile  in  a  stoneless  land, 
Where  never  hill  may  raise 
Its  sudden  skyward  summit  in  God' s  praise  ; 
Where  the  sleek  hill-slopes  swerve 
In  russet,  serpent  curve 
To  the  dark  draws  where  tawniest  sunflowers 

nod, 

And  sun-seared  golden-rod  j 
Where    league-wide    fields  of  pallid    grain, 

dusk-furrowed 
And  gopher-burrowed, 
Roll  dizzy  to  the  borders  of  the  sight, 
6 


EXILES    OF    PLAIN 

A  dim  vast  land  of  level  light, 

Pallid  and  vacuous, 

Windily  tenuous, 

Swept  with  the  dusty  south, 

Parched  with  the  summer  drouth, 

Fair  with  its  fairness,  but  in  that  is  none 

That  thou  canst  call  thine  own. 

For  love  comes  not  of  wish  or  will, 
But  clings  unalterable 
To  the  old  dear  sights  that  first 
Filled  the  child's  eyes,  and  nursed 
His  thoughts  to  song.    What  new-seen  sights 

of  mine 
Can  speak  the  message  of  the  wind-crowned 

pine 

That,  solitary,  crowned  my  hill  of  home  ! 
What  voice  shall  ever  come 
From  rippled  corn  speechful  as    came    that 

slow 

Surged  speech,  as  to  and  fro 
It  swayed   to    murmurous    cadence    of  the 

wind  ! 

What  mystery  shall  I  find 
In  plains  explorable  to  match  with  thee, 
Stern,  man-denying  sea, 
With  wide,  fog-vistaed  ways  untraceable 

7 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

By  furrow  of  any  steel  ! 

What  speech  have  sulky  sunflowers  that  star 

The  prairie  ridge  afar 

To  match  the  message  childhood's  daisy 
gave, 

Or  the  flame-glad  field-lily,  or  such  sea- 
bloom 

As  wavered  in  the  ocean  cave 

Through  shattered  emerald  gloom  ! 

I  have  no  skill  of  these, 
My  spirit  is  the  sea's, 

The  rocky  land' s,  —  aspiring  hardier  ways 
To  greet  the  blaze 
Of  bluer,  tenderer  skies 
Wilful  with  tears,  grief-tremulous,   like  the 

eyes 
That  are  indeed  love's  own. 

For  Nature's  level  tone, 
Eternal  smile,  perpetual  placitude, 
I  love  not,  turning,  rather,  in  my  heart 
To  such  friend  as  thou  art, 
O  stern  Atlantic  sea, 
Misted  with  petulance  of  hovering  storm, 
Snow-blurred,  —  or  summer-warm,  — 
Idle  and  amorous  with  transient  kindliness  ^ 


EXILES    OF    PLAIN 

Thy  changeful  tress 

Now  tossed  with  tenderest  breeze,  now  ser- 
pent-spread 

The  tempests  Gorgon  halo  of  thy  head, 

Medusa-terrible,  — 

Thy  voice,  now  keening  with  the  hate  of  hell, 

Now  fluting  heaven's  tropic,  gold-bright 
halls,  — 

Now,  with  fierce  trumpet-calls, 

Shaking  the  heart  of  the  lighthouse  sentinel, 

Jarring  the  granite  walls 

That  barrier  thy  wrath,  tolling  the  knell 

Of  thy  slain  sons  on  many  a  wave-poised 
buoy, — 

Now  soothing,  with  the  joy 

Of  starriest  dream,  the  muffled  roll  of  peace 

Sung  by  phosphoric  seas 

That  tramp  the  sodden  sulkiness  of  sand 

Along  the  grumbling  land. 

How  oft  with  swaying  keel 
Have  I  dared  forth  to  feel 
The  gliding  long  relapses  of  thy  wave  j 
How  oft  from  cave  to  cave 
Have  wandered   the   bored   bastions  of  the 

coast, 
And  scared  the  piping  host 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

Of  ghostly    gulls    that   dreamed   above   my 

ways,  — 

Have  entered  silent  bays 
Where  the  smooth  swell  broke  bubbling  up 

the  beach, 

Learned  all  thy  lore  could  teach 
Of  veering  fish,  of  ridgy  porpoises, 
And  all  the  tinier  beauties  of  thine  home, 
Dense  seaweed,  where  the  foam 
Lay  balled  in  tremulous  wreath, 
And  felt  thy  invigorate  breath 
From  sparkling  sundering  depths  of  emerald 
Flecked  with  green-hearted  gold  — 
The  mottled  splendor  of  the  prisoned  sun. 

And  now  those  days  are  done. 
Only  this  wide  plain  witnesses  the  sea, 
Only  the  lone  infinity 
That  hungers  to  no  end, 
A  land  that  seems  not  as  a  friend, 
A  russet,  stirless  plain,  whose  lucent  skies 
Like  bold  unfaltering  eyes 
Burn    steadfast    all    the    hours    of    summer 

through. 

So  I  as  you, 

Tree-friend,  sea-sundered  friend, 
10 


EXILES    OF    PLAIN 

Disrooted,  ponder  j  and,  compassionate, 

Muse  thine  uprooted  fate, 

And  pray  thy  pity,  even  as  mine  for  thee. 

God  grant  that  we  may  see 

Some    day    the    old   ranged   cliffs   of  home 

again} 

But,  if  it  be  not,  —  vain 
If  hope  and  prayer  be,  —  still 
Old  memories  shall  thrill 
Our  dreams    in   darkness,    and   these  sights 

shall  stand 

Beyond  life's  bounds  to  greet, 
In  the  dazed  dawning  of  some  ultimate  land, 
Our  wandered  feet. 

In  heaven  there  is  no  sea  ? 
Then  heaven  is  none  for  me, 
Far  rather  would  I  rove 
The  old  earth-places  that  I  used  to  love, 
And  with  the  sea-bird's  flight 
Swoop   up   the   wave's   green  imminence  of 

light, 

And  skim  the  caverned  wall 
Of  ocean  cliffs  where  the  majestical 
And  sullen  headlands  gloom  the  icy  seas, 
Or  drift  in  spacy  ease 
Of  ocean  boundlessness, 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

Till  Time,  with  stress 

Of  his  frore  hand,  shall  chill  the  shrinking 

sun, 

And  day  be  done, 

And  cold  congeal  the  caverns  of  the  sea. 
Then  let  my  slumber  be 
Swift,  dearest  Death,  or  lead  me  on,  afar, 
To  some  out-sphered  star, 
To  some  new  planet  where 
New  hills  rise  fair, 
Where    the    long    breakers    melt    along  the 

misted  bar, 
And  the  sea's  ancient  scent  breathes  up  the 

spacious  air. 


H 


A    SONG    OF    THE    DROUTH 

IS  slow  mules  plodded  on, 


L  And  he  heard  the  worn  wheels  clack, 
And  the  voice  of  the  thin,  sad  wind 
As  it  whined  behind  his  back. 

For  the  wind  cried  out  of  the  south, 
The  wind  of  the  heat  and  dust, 

The  gray  wind  of  the  drouth, 

That  says,  "  Thou  must  !  " 

12 


A    SONG    OF    THE    DROUTH 

Thou  must  arise  and  go, 

Whether  thou  wilt  or  no, 

For  the  land  throbs  parched  to  death, 

And  the  shrivelled  maize  sobs  dead, 

And  the  burnt  wheat  bows  the  head, 

And  the  gray  dust  stifles  breath. 

Whether  thou  wilt  or  no, 

Thou  must  arise  and  go. 

Thy  sod-built  house  that  stands 

The  heaped  work  of  thine  hands, 

The  fields  thy  beasts  have  ploughed, 

The  crops  thine  hands  have  sowed, 

The  hopes  thy  heart  has  builded, 

The  future,  vision-gilded, 

The  room  where  thy  child  breathed  life, 

The  grave  where  sleeps  thy  wife,  — 

Whether  thou  wilt  or  no, 

Thou  must  leave  them  all,  must  go. 

Over  the  beaten  track, 

With  the  thin  wind  at  thy  back, 

Plodding  the  powdered  dust 

That  climbs  to  the  swirling  gust,  — 

Where  the  hungry  coyote  cries, 

Where  the  outcast  farm-beast  dies, 

Through  the  seared,  crisp  hiss  of  corn, 

Under  brown  trees,  burnt,  forlorn, 

'3 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

Past  the  houses,  empty,  bare 
Of  hope,  to  the  old  home  where 
Life  promised,  long  ago, 
The  fulfilment  to-day  you  know. 

Ah,  what  are  the  old  home  places, 

If  they  frame  not  the  old  home  faces  ? 

What  glint  upon  boyhood's  stream, 

When  dead  is  the  boyhood  dream  ? 

What  charm  can  linger  still 

To  the  firs  on  the  ridging  hill 

If  you  clasp  no  more  her  hand 

There  where  you  used  to  stand  j 

If  far  away  she  lies 

With  the  plains-dust  in  her  eyes, 

Alone,  in  the  dusty  dearth 

Of  the  clodded,  iron  earth  ? 

Is  it  her  voice  that  sighs 

Behind  in  the  wind  that  cries, 

Her  voice  that  bids  you  stay, 

Die  where  she  died,  not  stray 

Back  to  the  old  east  home, 

Where  she  may  never  come  ? 

Back  to  the  hopeless  home, 

Back,  with  the  sobbing  wind 

Lamenting  in  thine  ears, 

Back,  with  thy  life  behind, 

14 


CHARTER-DAY    POEM 

Through  the  hissing,  sun-seared  fields, 

Through  the  drift  of  the  sullen  dust, 

At  the  gray  will  of  the  drouth, 

That  says,  "Thou  must  !  " 


CHARTER-DAY     POEM,     UNIVER- 
SITY   OF    NEBRASKA 
^  •  ^HE  hunter  shook  from  his  brown  pipe 

A        the  spark 
That  flashed  into  the  dark 
Of  the  knotted  grass-roots,  and  grew  strong 

and  sprang 
Into  crackling  flame,  and  it  heard  the  wind 

that  sang 
Its    dry    keen    wail    o'er    the    prairies,    and 

strengthened  and  grew 
Till    it    flared  to  a  league-long  flame,   and 

the  scared  birds  flew, 
Smoke-blinded  before  it,  and  the  blundering 

buffalo  fled, 
And  the  coyote  quacked  in  his  covert,   and 

the  Indian  said  : 
"To-night  the  God  of  the  fire  has  raised  his 

head  !  " 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

From  the  fire  of  ancient  worlds  a  little  spark, 

chance-shaken, 

Fell  on  our  alien  plains,  and  spread  alone, 
And  strengthened  till  it  shone 
World-wide  ;  and  nations  said :   When  did  it 

waken  ? 
We  saw  not  its  birth,  but  to-day  we  see, 

afar, 

A  flame  that  darkens  the  low  sunset  star, 
And  drives  the  huddled  night 
Cowering  before  the  lances  of  its  light. 

For  a  voice  cried  in  the  ear 

Of  the  West:  Awake,   for  the  future  calls 

thee  !      Hear, 
Child   of  the  plain,   to-day  your  limbs  are 

strong, 
Your  eyes  are  radiant  !     Wake,  for  you  sleep 

too  long  ! 

Wake,  for  the  east  hills  quicken  into  day, 
And    the    gray  wind    of  morning    calls  to 

song  ! 
Wake,  for  within  your  heart  there  glows 

The  prompting  of  the  new-born  soul, 
Strenuous    and    tireless,     quickening    as     it 
knows, 

Far  off,  the  destined  goal  ! 
16 


CHARTER-DAY    POEM 

The  golden  sunflowers,  myriad-blossoming, 
blaze 

From  hill  to  golden  hillj 
And  melt  at  last  into  the  golden  haze 

Of  the  great  distance.      All  the  land  is  still 
With  solitude,  and  only  the  quick  bird 
Chirps  in  the  grass  ;  no  other  sound  is  heard 
To  praise  God's  golden  gift. 
The  white  clouds  sail  and  sift 
The  mottled  moonlight  over  the  wide  land, 
The  slow  streams  flow ;   the  narrow  forests 

stand 

Huddled  and  timorous  for  loneliness. 
Has  God  not  given  gifts  enough  to  bless 
Our  singers  from  their  silence  ?     Has  our  ear 
Grown  all  too  dull  to  hear 
The  still,  sweet  voice  of  Nature's  tenderness  ? 
Has  she  no  whisper  to  awake 
The  soul  that  dreams,  the  song  that  sleeps, 
Until  its  thrilling  chords  shall  shake 

To  the  gray  hearts  of  older  lands, 
To  where  the  ocean's  iron  deeps 

Complain  upon  their  endless  sands  ? 

To  love,  to  know,  to  sing,  —  these  three 
Are  God's  most  precious  gifts  to  men, 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

To  know  what  has  been,  and  to  see 

The  ripening  of  what  shall  be, 
Far  off  beyond  the  present's  ken. 

To  read  life' s  book,  and  understand  ; 
To  tell  the  treasury  of  stars, 
And  through  Death's  unrelenting  bars 

To  spy  the  bounds  of  spirit-land. 

To  love,  to  know  life  fair,  to  see 
Earth  beautiful,  till  each  gray  tree 
Shall  tell  its  message,  each  star  shine 
Some  consolation,  and  the  line 
Of  the  last  hills  shall  speak  of  peace  ; 
Till  war  and  hate  and  envy  cease, 
And  over  all  the  smiling  land  shall  chime 
The   petalled   joy-bells  of  God's   blossom - 

time. 

To  sing,  to  tell  it  all, 
As  the  glad  birds  that  call 
The  green  spring  up  the  land,  till  each 
With  happier  heart  shall  learn  and  teach 
Such  new  accord  of  life  as  sings  attune 
Through  the  dense  leaves  of  June. 

To  know,  to  love,  to  sing,  —  and  then, 
To  spread  the  gathered  wealth  abroad 
18 


CHARTER-DAY   POEM 

To  every  dwelling-place  of  men, 
As,  with  the  ancient  dragon-hoard, 
Siegfried,  the  slayer,  southward  rode 
With  the  red  serpent  gold  that  glowed, 
All  glorious,  at  his  saddle-bow. 

Ride  on,  O  conqueror,  with  thy  spoil 
Of  error  and  thy  gifts  of  might  ! 

Ride  on,  that  every  heart  may  know 
The  sudden  sun  of  wisdom''  s  light, 

That  through  the  loneliest  prairie  ways, 
Where  the  least  sod-built  shanty  stands, 
Or  where  the  city's  million  hands 

Toil  grimy  through  the  grudging  days, 

The  blessing  of  thy  gifts  may  go, 

That  our  new  land  may  rise  and  know, 

As  the  old  peoples  of  the  past, 

The  joys  that  do  not  pale,   the  hopes  that 
last 

Against  the  hour  of  death,  and  make  of  life 

More  than  a  barren  strife, 

And  of  life' s  end  no  mere  forgetfulness. 

So  shall  thy  mission  be  to  bless, 

To  raise,  to  brighten,  and  to  lead  us  on 

Till  the  last  fight  is  won, 

The  utmost  end  accomplished,  and  we  see 

Far  up  above  us,  white  and  marvellous, 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

The  peaks  long-sought,   and  hear  acclaim- 
ing us 

The  voices  of  old  victors  gloriously- 
Triumphing  up  the  slopes  of  victory. 


i 


HOME 

NTO  the  East  and  away  from  the  plain, 
In  the  west  wind's  track  we  roam  ; 

Over  the  waving  wastes  of  grain, 

Till  we  come  to  the  heaped,  stern  hills  again, 
Till  we  come  to  the  hills  of  home. 

The  pine  trees  nod  on  the  windy  crest, 

The  clean  streams  flash  below, 
And  oh,  for  the  calm,  firm,  rocky  rest, 
The  stubborn  strength  of  the  earth's  ribbed 
breast, 

And  the  flowers  our  old  eyes  know  ! 

We  have  delved  the  black  of  the  prairie  earth, 

The  muck  of  the  rotting  sod, 
We  have  shared  the  drouth  and  the  rain-rot 

dearth, 
We  have  sorrowed,  have  laughed  with  the 

devil's  mirth, 
In  a  land  that  knew  no  God. 


HOME 

We  have  coined  black  mould  into  gleaming 
gold, 

We  have  minted  the  green  of  grain, 
The  strength  of  our  lives  is  spent  and  sold  — 
And  now  we  are  old,  and  the  tale  is  told, 

And  God  knows  whose  the  gain  ! 

Here's  off  with  the  slime  of  the  clinging  clay, 

And  the  stench  of  the  dense  sunflowers, 
And  the  dry  keen  wind  that  cries  all  day  — 
And  away,  oh  my  heart,  away  and  away, 
To  the  old  loved  land  of  ours  ! 

To  our  own  loved  land,   where    the    white 

gull  swoops, 

Where  the  salted  sea-wind  cries, 
Where  the  taut  sheet  drips,  and  the  lee  rail 

scoops, 
And  the  gray,   long  veil  of  the  rain-squall 

stoops 
From  the  wrack  of  the  scudding  skies. 

Into  the  East,  from  the  dread  of  the  plain, 

In  the  west  wind's  track  we  come. 
God  bring  us  safe  through  the  wastes  of  grain, 
Safe  back  to  the  heaped  sea-hills  again, 
Safe  back  to  the  hills  of  home. 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 


PRAIRIE 

ACROSS  the  sombre  prairie  sea 
The  dark  swells  billow  heavily. 
Are  the  looming  ridges  near  or  far 
That  heave  to  the  smooth  horizon-bar  ? 

The  russet  reach  of  grassy  roll 
Sickens  the  heart  and  numbs  the  soul, 
The  thin  wind  gives  no  air  for  breath, 
The  stillness  is  the  pause  of  death. 

This  width  was  never  shaped  to  be 

The  home  of  man' s  mortality, 

A  breathless  vacuum  of  peace, 

Where  life's  spent  ripples  spread  and  cease. 

No  end,  no  source,  its  spaces  know, 
Wide  as  the  sea's  perpetual  flow 
Is  its  dead  stand  —  dull  wall  on  wall 
Of  sullen  waves  unspiritual. 

God  give  me  but  in  dream  to  come 
Back  to  the  pine-clad  hills  of  home, 
Back  to  the  old  eternity 
Of  placid,  all-consoling  sea. 


COLD 


COLD 

THE  last  sunflower  stalk  is  burnt, 
The  last  of  the  bread  is  gone, 
And  cold  across  the  snow-swept  plain 
Comes  gray  the  aching  dawn. 

The  thin  grass  rustles  by  the  door, 

The  windows  jar  and  cry, 
The  white  drift  sifts  through  the  broken  pane, 

And  the  ceaseless  snow  throngs  by. 

Hush  —  sleep,  my  little  one  ;  soon  enough 
The  long  sleep  soothes  thy  pain  — 

Ah,  I  could  sleep,  for  the  dull  cold 
Burns  into  my  brain  ! 

The  shuddering  coyote  whines  and  cries, 

And  howls  to  God  for  food  ; 
The  great  gray  wolves  troop  down  arow 

And  pause  and  sniff  for  blood. 

O  God,  who  feed'st  the  whining  beast, 

Send  meat  to  those  that  pray  j 
Thou,  God,  that  giv'st  the  bird  his  feast, 

Be  thou  our  help  to-day  ! 

23 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

In  the  breathless  cruel  cold,  give  help, 
And  bring  the  spring  again, 

And  ridge  the  long  hills  with  the  great 
Green  heritage  of  grain. 


ON    THE    PRAIRIE 

BARE,  low,  tawny  hills 
With  bluer  heights  beyond, 
And  the  air  is  sweet  with  spring, 
But  when  will  the  earth  respond  ? 

Prairie  that  rolls  for  leagues, 

Dusky  and  golden-pale, 
Like  a  stirless  sea  of  waves, 

Unbroken  by  ship  or  sail. 

The  hollows  are  dark  with  brush, 

And  black  with  the  wash  of  showers, 

And  ragged  with  bleaching  wreck 
Of  the  ranks  of  the  tall  sunflowers. 

No  cloud  in  the  blue,  no  stir 

Save  the  shrill  of  the  wind  in  the  grass, 
And  the  meadow-lark's  note,  and  the  call 

Of  the  wind-borne  crows  that  pass. 

24 


THE    PIONEERS 

Bare,  low,  tawny  hills, 

With  bluer  heights  beyond, 
And  the  air  is  sweet  with  spring, 

But  when  will  the  earth  respond  ? 

THE    PIONEERS 

PALE  in  the  east  a  filmy  moon 
Creeps  up  the  empty  sky, 
And  the  pallid  prairie  rounds  bleak  below, 
And  we  wonder  that  we  are  here  5  and  the 

thin  winds  sigh 

Through    the  broken  stalks  of  the    sun- 
flowers that  wait  to  die, 
And  the  sun  is  gone,  and  the  darkness  be- 
gins to  grow, 

And  out  on  the  shadowy  plains  we  hear 
the  coyote^  s  cry. 

Out  of  the  dark  of  the  prairie  plains  — 
What  lurks  in  the  darkened  plains  ? 

It  is  there  that  the  coyote  howls, 

It  is  there  that  the  Indian  prowls, 
Sinewy-footed,  alert, 
Watching  to  do  us  hurt  ; 

And  the  sombre  buffalo 

Pace,  ominous  and  slow, 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

With  their  black  beards  trailing  low 
Over  the  sifting  snow. 

And  we,  we  cower  and  shake, 

Lying  all  night  awake,  — 
We  in  our  little  sod-built  hut  in  the  heart  of 
the  plain. 

God  guard  us,  and  make  vain 
The  wiles  of  the  Indian  foe  ; 
God  show  us  how  to  go, 
And  lead  us  in  again 
Out  of  the  dread  of  the  plain, 

Home  to  the  mountains  and  hills  that  our 

childhood  knew, 

Where  over  the  sombre  pine-trees  the  sea 
shines  blue. 


o 


SPRING    ON    THE    PRAIRIE 

FVER  the  stubborn  earth, 
Over  the  sullen  fields, 
Spring  bent  her  brooding  wings 
Of  sombre  thunder-cloud, 
Whispering:   "  Wake  from  dearth  ; 
Wake,  and  your  answer  yield  !  " 
And  the  low  clouds  bent  and  bowed, 
And  the  thunder  muttered  loud, 
26 


SPRING    ON    THE    PRAIRIE 

And  the  driving  raindrops  fell, 

And  the  hail,  and  earth  answered  well. 

The  little  grass  that  slept, 

In  tiny  headlets  crept 

Up  to  the  warmth  and  air. 

And  the  trees,  black-boughed  and  bare, 

Drank  a  new  life  that  flushed 

To  their  tender  tips,  and  blushed 

In  the  ribbed  soft  youth  of  leaves. 

And  the  warm  earth  flowered  in  scent 

Bounteous,  indolent, 

All  the  black  wealth  of  plain 

Answering  the  pulsing  rain. 

And  the  meadow-lark  called  his  keen 

Flute-note  of  joy  between. 

Across  the  new-sown  rows 

Cawed  the  slow,  lumbering  crows, 

Jag-winged  and  greedy-eyed. 

And  all  that  it  seemed  had  died, 

All  that  had  cowered  dumb, 

Awoke  and  stirred  and  cried, 

For  over  the  prairies  wide 

The  spirit  of  spring  had  come. 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 


FAR    AWAY 

FAR  away,  in  seaward  places 
The  bristled  fir-trees  nod, 
And  the  bluebells  lift  their  faces, 

And  the  pine  holds  hands  to  God. 

The  low  sea  moans  and  grumbles 
Upon  the  rounded  stones, 

And  the  clean  white  foam-line  tumbles, 
And  the  wind  of  ocean  moans. 

And  the  slant- winged  sea-gull,  gleaming 

Over  the  sea-blue  bay, 
Seems  mine  own  soul  —  who  dreaming, 

Sit  westward,  far  away. 


THE  GIANT    WOLF 

THE  giant  wolf,  the  woodland  wolf, 
Strode  southward  down  the  wind, 
And  the  gale  yelled    keen,   and    the  moon 

gleamed  green, 
And  the  little  stars  blinked  blind. 


28 


PEISINOE 

The  seething  snow-snakes  twined  before, 
And  hissed  through  the  knotted  grass, 

And  he  heard  overhead  the  sheeted  dead, 
That  dance  in  the  whirlwind,  pass. 

His  shag  gray  locks  roughed  with  the  wind, 
His  white  teeth  fanged  with  wrath  j 

Now  God  be  good  to  the  man  whose  blood 
He  smells  before  his  path  ! 

Now  God  be  good  to  the  man  whose  feet 
On  the  snow-blind,  swirling  way, 

Shall  meet  the  blaze  of  his  hungry  gaze 
And  the  snarling  fangs  that  slay. 

And  happy  he  that  sits  at  home, 

Where  the  corn-fire  smoulders  warm, 

When  alone,   in  the  white  of  the  whirling 

night, 
The  gray  wolf  walks  the  storm. 

PEISINOE 

THE  old,  old  song  of  the  old  sea, 
The  ancient  sea,  the  serpent  sea, 
A  lady  fair,  with  gleaming  eyes, 
Beneath  a  gnarled  tree. 

29 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

A  lady  fair  with  gleaming  eyes, 
With  golden  hair,  coiled  serpentwise 

Round  slender  throat,  round  white  limbs 

bare 
To  strange  and  sunset  skies. 

My  wealth,  my  weal,  O  lady  fair, 
My  serpent  queen,  my  lady  fair, 

Land,  life,  for  one  kiss  of  thy  mouth 
Amid  thy  golden  hair  ! 

Her  stretched  arms  call  :  He  follows  fleet. 
Her  sudden  kiss  burns  sharp  and  sweet, 

His  eyes  are  blind  ;  he  may  not  see 
The  pit  beneath  her  feet. 

The  old,  old  song  of  the  old  sea, 
The  ancient  sea,  the  serpent  sea, 

A  lady  fair,  with  gleaming  eyes, 
Beneath  a  gnarled  tree. 


THE    WINTER    SEA 

THE  sea  is  stern  ;  her  sternness  is 
The  anger  of  the  infinite  ; 
In  all  her  power  there  is  no  peace, 
30 


AT    REST 

Her  waves'  complaint  shall  never  cease 
To  sob  into  the  stars'  great  night. 

For  the  sea  knows  the  whole  great  girth 
And  the  circle  of  the  barren  sky, 

And  the  small  circuit  of  the  earth. 

She  knows  that  God  is  not,  that  birth 

Leads  to  the  grave  where  all  must  lie. 

White  skeletons  of  many  men 

Gleam  in  the  twilight  of  her  caves  ; 
All  these  had  hope  ;  their  trusting  ken 
Saw  God's  hand  strong  to  help,  but  when 
Was    God's    hand    stronger    than    the 
waves  ? 

Cold  cannot  bind  her  with  his  chains, 

The  winter  tempest  is  her  breath, 
Alone  of  all  things  she  remains 
Pitiless,  changeless,  —  fed  with  rains 
And  harvestings  of  human  death. 


A 


AT    REST 

T  the  narrow  gate  of  the  wind-swept 

strait, 
The  white  light  towers  high, 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

And  black  and  silent  at  its  foot 
The  crippled  schooners  lie. 

With  cordless  masts  and  broken  decks, 
And  sides  flush  with  the  sea, 

They  sleep  in  the  summer  sun  and  dream 
Of  the  days  when  they  were  free. 

Like  the  wild    white  birds  that  sought  the 

light 

Out  of  the  storm's  dark  breath, 
They    swept,     wind-winged,     through    the 

whirling  night, 
And  at  its  foot  found  death. 


WITHIN    THE    GATES 

E  low  clouds  darken  down  the  hills 
J_  And  bar  the  narrow  straits, 
Without,  the  angry  ridging  sea 
Beats,  growling,  at  the  gates. 

Without,  the  gray  great  sea  heaves  free, 

The  foamy  east-wind  calls, 
And  the  fir-trees  wrestle  stubborn  boughs 

Along  the  wave-jarred  walls. 
3* 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    STORM 

Within,  the  schooners  swing  and  sway 
By  the  black,  rain-sodden  pier, 

The  swift  squalls  darken  up  the  bay, 
And  the  ripples  race  with  fear. 

But  far  outside,  in  the  fog  and  rain, 

The  great  ships  lift  and  reel, 
And  the  gray  waves  roar  to  pluming  flame, 

And  the  keening  sea-birds  wheel. 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    STORM 

WHAT  darkens  in  the  west  ? 
(Hark  how  the  gulls  are  calling  !) 
The  spread  black  hand  of  the  storm 
That  grows  with  the  twilight's  falling. 

What  gathers  in  the  east  ? 

(Hark  how  the  beaches  rattle  ! ) 
The  march  of  the  columned  clouds 

That  gather  to  the  battle. 

Dark  and  slow,  row  on  row, 
The  ranks  of  the  east  assemble, 

And  under  their  line  the  sea's  ranks  shine, 
And  the  long  shores  quake  and  tremble. 

33 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

The    swift    scud    streams,  the    white    foam 
gleams, 

And  fierce  shall  the  onset  be, 
And  God  be  his  help  that  strives  to-night 

With  the  armies  of  the  sea  ! 

Black  ridges  with  white,  mad  manes, 

Beaches  that  roar  and  rattle, 
And  a  wind  that  ranges  the  wild  sea-line^ 

Driving  the  waves  to  battle. 


w 


SEA-GULLS 
HENCE   come  the  white  gulls  that 


sail, 

That  flutter  and  sink  and  sail  ? 
Their  red  beaks  flash  and  glitter, 
Their  wide  wings  droop  and  trail. 

They  follow  the  sea-tide's  call, 
They  troop,  at  the  sea-tide's  call, 
'  Over  the  wide  sea-spaces 
And  along  the  dark  sea-wall. 

Along  the  dark  sea-steep, 

By  the  black  cliffs,  bare  and  steep, 

They  flutter  and  fall  and  scream, 

They  drift  slow-winged  in  sleep. 

34 


IN    SPRING 

They  wander  and  brighten  and  gleam, 
As  the  wind-clouds  shift  and  gleam  — 
Souls  of  sea-winds  that  wander 
In  a  sea-encircled  dream. 


ALAS,    THE    WEARY    WHILE! 

ALAS,  the  weary  while  to  spring  ! 
The  weary  while,  the  snows  to  cling, 
Ere  north  the  nest-bound  swallows  wing, 
And  wide  the  rapturous  south  wind  fling 
The  portals  of  the  sun. 

Ah,  sweet,  the  weary  while  to  wait, 

Till  summoning  spring  shall  burst  the  gate, 

And  bring,  embowered,  irradiate, 

The  hour  —  ah,  sweet,  the  while  to  wait 

Till  springtime  be  begun  ! 


IN    SPRING 

LIFE'S  but  a  spark  that  flares  its  flame 
And  sinks  to  sullen  gray  $ 
But  ah,  the  flame,  and  the  joy  of  the  flame, 
Before  it  dies  away  ! 

35 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

The  breath  of  the  bloom  and  the  blaze  of 
the  sun, 

And  the  emerald  boon  of  May, 
And  the  arms  of  love  and  the  eyes  of  love 

And  the  hour  that  is  for  aye  ! 

The  spring  winds  storm  the  whispering  hill, 

A  sea  of  glinted  spray, 
The  night-vales  throb  with  the  whip-poor-will, 

The  moon  brings  love's  mild  day,  — 
For  ah,  the  flame,  and  the  joy  of  the  flame, 

And  the  blossoming  boon  of  May, 
The  arms  of  love  and  the  eyes  of  love, 

And  the  hour  that  lives  for  aye  ! 


THE    BROOK'S    GOOD-NIGHT 

DID  you  not  hear  the  whisper, 
In  the  hollow  by  the  mill  ? 
For  Nature  is  talking  to  the  brook 
That  prattles  beneath  the  hill  : 
"  Child,  will  you  not  be  still  ? 
Will  you  not  sleep  ?     Little  one,  pretty  one, 

look, 

It  is   warm  to-day,    but  the    grim  north 
wind  will  come  back  $ 


THE    ELM 

He  is  only  skulking  to-day, 
Treading  and  trampling  the  tumbled  leaves 
in  the  wood, 

And  his  brows  are  bad  and  black. 
Peace,  little  one,  be  good, 
Be  good  and  be  quiet,  sleep  in  your  cradle 
of  ice, 

And  I  will  throw 

Safe  over  you  my  coverlet  of  snow, 
My  coverlet,  to  keep 
You  sheltered  in  your  sleep, 

To  keep  you  sheltered  safe  from  all  keen 

winds  that  blow. 
Sleep,  darling,  have  no  fear, 
For  I  am  with  you,  dear  !  *  * 

THE   ELM 

UPON  his  huge  gray-crusted  boughs 
The  swarming  song-birds  sing  j 
Above,  the  cawing  crow  flaps  north 
With  fringed  and  sullen  wing. 

Beneath  his  feet  the  grasses  start, 
The  heart-leaved  violets  stir, 

The  south  wind  whispers  of  the  spring, 
The  strong  sun  tells  of  her. 

37 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

His  leaves  awake  not  at  their  touch, 

He  waits  the  stronger  rays, 
The  sultry  and  supremer  hours 

Of  May' s  embowering  days. 

Then  from  his  giant  boughs  shall  spread 
The  green  embracing  dome, 

The  arched  strong  shelter  of  God1  s  love 
To  roof  the  forest  home. 


AMONG    THE    OAKS 

NOT  in  contentment,  side  by  side, 
With  lisp  of  leafy  speech, 
Spread  the  broad  boughs  ;  but  wander  wide, 
And  crave  and  yearn  unsatisfied, 
And  sorrow  and  beseech. 

Each  little  twig  aches  out  for  aid, 
Each  leaf  lifts  hands  of  prayer  ; 
Do  they,  too,  ask  for  God,  afraid 
At  his  great  silence,  and  dismayed, 
Finding  no  answer  there  ? 

O  yearning  of  the  aching  earth 

That  cannot  find  its  fill  ! 
38 


LONE    GOD 

The  little  flowers  nod  with  mirth, 
Wind-ruffled,  but  in  doubt  and  dearth 
The  great  trees  sorrow  still. 

They  know,  they  know.     The  blank  of  space 

Bears  heavy.      Far  away 
They  hear  the  silence,  but  always 
Against  God's  unregarding  face 

They  watch  and  plead  and  pray. 

LONE    GOD 

LONE    town,   crouched   in    encroaching 
plain, 

Lone  ship,  encalmed  in  shimmering  sea, 
Lone  earth,  whose  ball  spins  Night's  domain, 

Lone  soul,  that  dwells  eternity, 
Lone  sun,  whose  courtiered  course  must  wait, 

Kin  sun,  to  match  thy  course  with  his, 
Lone  God,  enthroned  to  consummate 

Climaxing  time  !     In  heaven's  bliss 
Creep  no  sad  notes  to  thwart  the  strong 

Uplift  of  seraph  praise  —  no  shade 
Darkening  gold  heaven,  that  no  sweet  song 

Sings  love,  save  thou  the  singer  made  ? 
Creation's  pinnacle  yearns  lone  ; 
No  kin  God  knows  thy  God-need,  none  ! 

39 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 


SONG    HOMES    ON    HILLS 

SONG  homes  on  hills  ;  no  placid  plains 
Can  hem  its  powers  5  it  disdains 
Their  unaspiring  calm,  to  dare 
More  arduous  air. 

The  blown  Acropolis  caught  fire 
Of  song  5  the  dull  Boeotian  lyre, 
Stagnated,  ceased.      Upon  the  height, 
Alone,  flamed  light. 

Up  from  the  plains  !     Up  where  the  hills 
Stoop  windward,  where  ridged  sunset  fills 
The  vales  with  misted  gold,  where  trees 
Speak  windy  peace  ! 

Up  where  the  clouds  go,  where  the  birds 
Stoop  reeling,  where  the  heart  to  words 
Leaps  as  the  bird  to  song,  — the  strong 
Wild  nature-song,  — 

Bird-sung,  wind-pealed,  pine-trumpeted, 
Star-flashed,  the  clarion  to  our  dead 
Aspirings,  bidding  them  stir,  arise, 
And  dare  the  skies. 

40 


IN    SOME    SWEET    PLACE 

Song  homes  on  hills,  its  power  disdains 
The  sordid  plains  5  its  true  domains 
Where  riotous  the  wild  wind  thrills  — 
Its  home,  the  hills  ! 


IN    SOME    SWEET    PLACE    OF 

SUNSET 

IN  some  sweet  place  of  sunset,  where  the 
sun 

Sinks  and  so  passes,  and  the  rounded  sea 
And    vacant  skv,   still,  though  the  day  be 

done, 

Pulse  with  his  pale  diminished  memory, 
So  the  old  lustre  of  those  living  days, 

When,  one  with  Nature,  in  her  haunts  I 

dwelt, 
And  sought    the  hill-tops  through    the  salt 

sea-haze, 
And    pierced    the    unwilling    wood,     or 

gladly  knelt 

Beside  some  virgin  spring,  all  rock-embow- 
ered, — 

All    these    old    lustres    in    my    soul    still 
gleam, 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

And  through  these  barren  plains  I  walk,  en- 
dowered, 
With      sweet     diminished      radiances    of 

dream,  — 

Pale  visions,  quick  to  vanish,  could  I  see 
O'er  eastern  hills  mine  old  land  smile  to  me  ! 


THE    HEAVENS  ARE  OUR  RIDDLE 

THE  heavens  are  our  riddle  ;  and  the  sea, 
Forested  earth,  the  grassy  rustling  plain, 
Snows,  rains,  and  thunders.      Yea,  and  even 

we 
Before     ourselves     stand    ominous.       In 

vain  ! 
The  stars  still  march  their  way,  the  sea  still 

rolls, 
The    forests    wave,    the   plain    drinks    in 

the  sun, 

And  we  stand  silent,  naked,  —  with  tremu- 
lous souls,  — 
Before  our  unsolved  selves.      We  pray  to 

one 

Whose  hand  should  help  us.      But  we  hear 
no  voice  5 

42 


TRANSIENCY 

Skies    clear  and    darken ;  the    days    pale 

and  pass, 
Nor  any  bids  us  weep  or  bids  rejoice. 

Only  the    wind    sobs    in    the    shrivelling 

grass,  — 

Only  the  wind,  —  and  we  with  upward  eyes 
Expectant  of  the  silence  of  the  skies. 


TRANSIENCY. 

WOULD  that  I  were  more  than  the  old 
wind 

And  the  enduring  sea  —  than  the  blue  sky 
That   sees    the  dooms  of  men  5   more  than 

this  blind 
Bright  web  of  thoughtless  life  that  need  not 

die. 
To-day  I  am    more.      I  make    its    wonder 

mine  : 
To-morrow  my  pulse  stills  j  the  wind  may 

blow 

Unheard  above  my  grave,  the  sky  may  shine, 
The  blue  sea  roll  its  way  —  I   shall  not 

know, 

Nor   these  know  of  me.      Nature  pays  no 
tears 

43 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

In  tribute  to  her  transient  lord.     He  fades 
Out  from  her  radiance,  and  still  the  years 
Flush  with  new  green   the   forest-scented 

glades, 
Where  not  a  nodding  flower  shall  pine  that 

he, 

Friend  of  all  tenderest    flowers,   has  ceased 
to  be. 


AND  LOVE,  THEY  SAY,  SHALL 
FADE 

AND    love,   they  say,   shall  fade,  —  like 
summer  weed 
At  winter's  frost  shall  wither,  —  and 

thou,  again, 
That  smilest  now,  shalt  know  love's  piteous 

need, 

And  empty  arms,  and  uncompanioned  pain. 

Thy  lips  shall  cease  from  kisses,  and  her  face 

That  shone  for  thee  shall  shine  to  other  eyes, 

Or  slowly,  shred  by  shred,  be  shorn  of  grace, 

And     pale    from    the    old    beauty    thou 

didst  prize. 

Alas,  and  shall  it  be  ?     I  think  not  Life, 
Slow  builder  of  sweet  love,   shall  topple 

down 
44 


WHO    ARE    YE 

His  gradual  temple,  or  the  loving  wife 

Grow  less  beloved  than  who  in  maiden  gown 

First  won  the  wavering  heart,  or  time  de- 
clare 

The  face    each  morn  more  dear  can  grow 
less  fair. 


WHO    ARE    YE    THAT    HASTE 
AWAY 

WHO  are  ye  that  haste  away, 
With   figures  bowed,   with  garments 

s™y> 

Into  the  deep  of  the  sunset' s  sleep  ? 
"We  are  the  griefs  of  yesterday. " 

Why,  gray  griefs,  do  ye  take  your  flight  ? 
What  dawn  of  wonder,  what  new-born  light, 
Shall    seal   to-morrow  from   the  hosts   of 
sorrow  ? 

"  Another  has  come,  of  greater  might." 

Who  is  he,  with  power  above 
Your  power  that  all  men  perish  of? 

45 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

"  One  tender,  yet  tearless,  with  strong  heart 

fearless, 
The  lord  of  sorrow,  the  master,  Love  ! ' ' 


THE     MESSAGE 

I  MADE  a  little  song  one  day, 
.Not  over  sad  nor  over  gay, 
And  every  word  thereof  was  full 
With  praise  of  one  most  beautiful. 

To  her  I  sang  it,  while  overhead 
The  sunset  deepened  into  red 
Behind  the  hills  5  word,  song,  and  verse 
With  utter  love  made  wholly  hers. 

And  so  I  put  it  from  my  heart  ; 
I  said  :    *  *  My  song,  since  hers  thou  art, 
Save  at  her  bidding  it  shall  be, 
Return  thou  nevermore  to  me/' 

And  as  I  lie  to-day,  quite  still, 
Beside  her  grave  upon  the  hill, 
The  little  song  comes  back,  so  clear, 
So  sweet,  I  think  she  sent  it  here. 

46 


BEFORE    THE    BATTLE 


BEFORE    THE    BATTLE 

^O-NIGHT,"  they  said, 
'  When  the  day  is  dead, 
When  we  are  slain,  or  the  foe  is  fled,  — 

At  set  of  sun, 

When  all  is  done, 
When  all  is  lost,  or  the  fight  is  won,  — 

Then  we  shall  sleep 

In  Death's  dark  keep, 
Or  drink  the  red  wine  till  the  night  is  deep. 

Ride  !  Ride  ! 

With  our  wrath  to  guide, 

Into  the  battle,  sword  by  side  ! 

"  To-night,1'  they  laughed, 

As  they  stooped  and  quaffed 
The  red,  fierce  wine  from  the  stirrup  cup,, 

"To-night,  when  we  come, 

The  funeral  drum 
Shall  throb  to  startle  their  souls  that  sup  ; 

Or  the  flags  shall  stream, 

And  the  banners  gleam, 
And  our  trumpets  blow  triumph  as  we   ride 
up  ! 

Ride  !  Ride  ! 

47 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

With  our  wrath  to  guide, 
Into  the  battle,  sword  by  side  ! 

4  <  Away  and  away  ! 

For  the  morn  is  gray, 

And  the  sword-blades  hunger  and  stir  in  the 
sheath, 

And  above  the  hills 

The  red  sky  fills 
With  the  dawning  terror  of  blood  beneath. 

The  white  blades  burn  , 

And  the  keen  spears  yearn 
To  harvest  the  red,  ripe  field  of  death. 

Ride  !  Ride  ! 

With  our  wrath  to  guide, 

Into  the  battle,  sword  by  side  !  " 


GRAND    MANAN    ISLAND 
^  •  ^HERE  is  no  sense  of  human  fellowship 
A  Where     rise    these     cliffs    in    sea-girt 

majesty  5 

Barren  and  dark,  gray  with  the  mystery 
Of  ocean-wandering  clouds  that  veer  and  slip 
With  the  wind's  changing  will,  they  stand, 

and  dip 
48 


BEHIND    THE    BARRIERS 

Their  dark  foundations  in  unfathomed  sea. 
Here  all    is    stern.      Here   may   no   kind 

gods  be. 
The  strong  tide  holds  all  in  his  iron  grip. 

Here  are  no  kindly  gods,  but  rather  they 
That  sat  sword-girded  on  the    northland 

hills, 

Giant  of  purpose,  resolute  of  might, 
Watching  calm-browed  to  that  fore-destined 

day 

When  all  the  iron  anger  of  their  wills 
Should    perish    in   the   twilight  of  the 
night. 


BEHIND    THE   BARRIERS 

BEHIND  the  barriers  of  the  sea, 
Beside  the  quiet  pools  lie  we, 
On  grassy  banks,  where  grow  at  will 
The  meadow-sweet  and  daffodil. 

No  tree  to  break  the  pale  blue  sky 
Where  clouds  and  wind  go  speeding  by, 
Hurled  inland,  not  at  peace,  as  we, 
Behind  the  barriers  of  the  sea. 

49 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

Like  a  sea-wave,  the  great  sea-wall 
Lifts  darkling,  and  the  distant  fall 
Of  waters  on  its  outer  verge 
Shrills  sombre  with  the  spreading  surge. 

But  here  at  rest  on  banks  of  flowers, 
Small  care  of  wind  or  waves  is  ours. 
Beside  the  quiet  pools  lie  we, 
Behind  the  barriers  of  the  sea. 


DA    CAPO 

THE  drift  of  the  blushed  apple-blossoms, 
falling,  falling  5 
Petal  and  sunflake  stealing  together  to   the 

bowers  of  the  grass, 
And    the    thrill    of    the    branch-burrowed 

thrushes,   calling,   calling ; 
And   the    thought  —  like    pale,    sun-killing 

cloud  —  of  the  blossoms  that  pass  $ 
The  bloom  to  the  fruit,  and  the  fruit  to  dull 

earth,  to  the  ultimate  seed  5 
To  ripen,  to  shoulder  to   light,  to    expand 

into  deed, 
And  —  die  !  Does  the  dark  conquer  light,  or 

light  dominate  dark  ? 
50 


THINE    EYES    ARE    MIRRORS 

Ah,  God,  if  God  be,  shall  our  spark 

Seed  us  eternal  ?  —  The  blossoms  are  falling, 

The  thrushes  are  calling,  calling. 


THINE    EYES    ARE    MIRRORS    OF 
STRANGE    THINGS 

THINE  eyes  are  mirrors  of  strange  things 
That  thou  canst  never  understand, 
The  secret  and  the  hidden  springs 
Of  spirit-land. 

Thy  heart  is  lighter  than  the  breast 

Of  dawn's  glad  bird  that  cleaves  the  skies 

To  sunlight  —  but  the  world"  s  unrest 
Lies  in  thine  eyes. 

The  yearning  of  the  years  that  weep 
For  all  the  bliss  that  shall  not  be 

Dwells  in  them  — thoughts  too  sadly  deep 
To  dwell  with  thee. 

These  are  the  shrine  where  sits  thy  soul 
Wise  in  the  silence,  being  dumb 

With  knowledge  of  the  dread  control 
Of  days  to  come. 

51 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

Thine  eyes  are  mirrors  of  strange  things 
That  thou  mayst  never  understand, 

The  secret  ways,  the  hidden  springs, 
Of  spirit-land. 


BACCALAUREATE    HYMN,    HAR- 
VARD,   '90 

TO  Thee,  O  Father,  we  whose  way 
Lies  yet  untrodden  and  untried, 
Through  joy,  through  sorrow,  humbly  pray, 
Be  Thou  our  help,  be  Thou  our  guide. 

No  skill  is  ours  to  walk  aright 

The  path  of  life  with  peril  strewn  $ 

No  strength  is  ours  save  in  Thy  might, 
No  wisdom  but  in  Thee  alone. 

Through  joyous  days,  through  days  that  weep, 
We  fare,  with  eyes  that  look  to  Thee, 

On  to  the  last  great  change  of  sleep, 
Beyond  which  waits  the  life  to  be. 

So  guide  us,  that,  in  that  last  hour, 
The  battle  o'er,  the  victory  won, 

We  lay  the  trophies  of  Thy  power 
Before  the  brightness  of  Thy  throne. 


CLASS-DAY    ODE 


CLASS-DAY    ODE,    HARVARD,  '90 

FAIR  Harvard,  ere  we  in  our  turn  pass 
away 

From  thy  portals,  our  song  we  upraise, 
One  note  in  the  song  of  the  world-sundered 

throng 

Of  thy  sons,  who  are  one  in  thy  praise  ; 
From  thy  throne  by  the  storm-beaten  shores 

of  the  east 

To  the  western,  far  shores  of  the  sea, 
That    thy  splendor  and   fame  may  endure, 

and  thy  name 
In  the  mouths  of  thy  sons  yet  to  be. 

Through  the  change  of  the    years  wherein 

laughter  and  tears 

Shall  be  mingled  as  sunshine  and  shade, 
We  shall  march  with  thy  grace  for  our  guid- 
ance, thy  face 

Still  before  us,  by  dread  undismayed. 
As  the  thunder  and  song  of  the  sea  on  the 

long 

Sea-ramparts,  thy  praise  shall  ascend  ; 
And  to  thee,  who  giv'st  might  to  thy  sons, 

in  the  light 
Of  thy  learning,  be  fame  without  end. 

53 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 


A    SONG    OF    FALLEN    LEAVES 

I   SAT  in  the  old  garden, 
In  the  ancient,  stone-wrought  chair, 
And  the  leaves  were  whirling  and  falling, 
And  I  knew  that  she  was  there,  — 

There  in  the  seat  beside  me, 

And  all  was  as  it  should  — 
The  leaves  from  the  shuddering  branches 

Dropped  slow  and  red  as  blood. 

And  I  turned  to  touch,  to  call  her, 

But,  lo,  she  was  not  there  ! 
Only  the  leaves  fell  slowly 

On  the  ancient,  stone-wrought  chair. 

Oh,  love,  love  of  all  hours, 

Of  waking  or  of  dream, 
Come,  for  the  night  sinks  dreary, 

And  I  fear  the  silent  stream. 

It  winds  through  the  windless  hollows, 
And  with  leaves  its  pools  are  strown, 

And  strange  dreads  watch  beside  it, 
And  I  dare  not  go  alone. 

54 


DEATH'S    DOOR 

For  I  know  by  the  bridge-head  yonder 
The  spirit  of  dead  glad  days 

Stands,  with  drooped  eyes,  waiting, 
And  my  soul  knows  what  he  says. 

And  I  know  that  the  black  still  river 

Is  deep  as  a  spirit's  pain, 
And  they  that  sink  within  it 

Shall  never  rise  again. 


DEATH'S    DOOR 

A     WISCONSIN     LEGEND 

OVER    the    ice,    over   the    white   plains 
hoar,  — 

Who  are  these  that  creep  by  night, 
In  the  hour  of  the  white  midnight 
That  dare  the  league-wide  passage  of  Death' s 
Door  ? 

Black-haired,  with  heron-plumes, 
He  is  the  king  that  looms 
The  midmost  in  the  dance,  — 
Is  that  a  mortal  glance 
That  his  sudden  eye  reveals  ? 
See  where  his  comrade  steals, 

55 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

See  where  the  whole  host  come, 
Trooping,  still,  dark  and  dumb,  — - 
Stealthy  Indian  spies, 
Over  the  snow-ridged  ice  ! 

Long  and  long  ago,  — 

So  runs  the  tale  of  woe,  — 

Indian  and  bride 

Sank  in  the  ice-black  tide, 

Sunken,  seen  no  more, 

In  the  darkness  of  Death's  Door. 

IN  THE  SILENCE  OF  THE  SUNSET 

IN  the  silence  of  the  sunset, 
By  the  quiet  river's  side, 
I  walked  through  the  sea-sweet  meadows 
At  the  flooding  of  the  tide. 

And  up  the  glassy  river 

Came  a  ripple  from  the  sea, 
And  a  gull  veered  high  above  me, 

And  my  soul  grew  sad  in  me. 

For  I  thought,  In  the  northern  highlands,. 

By  the  northern  ocean's  foam, 
She  sits,  somewhere  at  the  sunset, 

Far  off  in  her  northland  home. 
56 


AT    EVENING 

Of  her  the  sea-waves  whisper, 
As  they  ripple  through  the  grass, 

Of  her  the  sea-gulls  tell  me 

As  they  flutter  and  wheel  and  pass. 

And  to  her  my  heart  turns  craving, 

Though  far  away  she  be, 
Across  wide  wastes  of  ocean, 

By  the  cliffs  of  the  northland  sea. 


G 


AT    EVENING 

OD  flushed  the  sunset  through  the  cup 


FOf  misted  hills  and  said, 
"  Now  the  day  is  dead, 
Earth  dark,  let  thine  eyes  look  up  ! " 

Toil  sleeps,  care  lulls,  now  cease 
The  tumultuous  wheels  of  day, 
And  the  sun's  last  ray 

Spreads  the  purple  of  night's  peace. 

The  curtained  mists  above 

The  darkened  valley  spread. 

Hush  !     God  has  said 
His  sunset  word  of  love. 

57 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 


A    MEMORY 

TWO  little  hills, —  my  mountains  then, — 
A  small  ravine  between, 
Beneath  whose  mystery  of  boughs 

The  hollow  heart  of  green 
Was  quick  with  tremulous  fear,  with  hope 
Of  fairer  flowers  unseen. 

With  childhood's  wonder,  innocent 

Of  wiser  scorn, 
Plunging  through  rustling  boughs  back-bent, 

Moist  with  the  morn, 
Into  the  sprayed  fantastic  brake 

And  crisp  thin  grass 
Stirred  with  the  swing  of  some  swift  snake,  — 

To  part  and  pass 
The  caverns  of  the  gold  and  green 

Strange  solitude 
With  fearful  hopes  of  things  unseen, 

Not  surely  good,  — 
To  pluck  the  white  stars,  softly  tinged 

With  sunset  skies 
As  cheeks  in  slumber  —  faintly  fringed 

By  half-shut  eyes  — 
All  this  that  was,  the  sense  of  bliss 

Unknowing,  free, 

58 


PR^TERITA 

Quick  with  the  wind,  the  sunshine's  kiss, 

The  smiling  sea,  — 
All  this  has  passed.      New  days  have  come, 

The  book  lies  sealed. 
The  shrines  are  darkened,  all  is  dumb, 

No  word  revealed. 
Only,  to-day,  in  hours  that  are 

Outworn  with  care, 
Old  memories  brighten,  break  the  bar, 

Once  more  are  fair. 
Once  more  —  a  moment  —  as  life  was, 

And  then,  but  this, 
As  on  the  lips  of  them  that  pass 

Lies  love's  last  kiss. 


PR^TERITA 

THE  world  has  quite  outgrown  her  song, 
Because  the  world  has  sung  too  long, 
And  so  the  world  shall  sing  no  more, 
And  song  is  o'  er. 

For  men  are  wiser  than  of  old, 
And  men  have  learned  the  worth  of  gold, 
And  men  have  set  their  hearts  above 
The  spell  of  love. 

59 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

Men's  eyes  shall  cease  to  weep,  they  say, 
For  pity,  in  the  coming  day, 
And  none  shall  laugh  through  all  the  earth 
Made  bare  of  mirth. 

Then  heaven  that  we  hoped  shall  be 
As  the  old  tale  of  Arcady, 
And  men,  in  spirit  as  in  breath, 
Shall  die  in  death. 

The  world  has  quite  outgrown  her  song, 
Because  the  world  has  sung  too  long, 
And  so  the  world  shall  sing  no  more, 
And  song  is  o'er. 

THERE    IS    A    MUSIC    IN    THE 
MARCH  OF  STARS. 

THERE  is  a  music  in  the  march  of  stars, 
And  song  that  fills  the  pulses  of  the  sea, 
That  whispers  in  the  wind,  and  piteously 
Sobs  in  the  rain,  a  chant  that  grates  and  jars 
In  the  dull  thunder' s  heart,  that  makes  or  mars 
The  song  of  nature,  the  world-song  that  we 
Hear  loud  above  us,  the  great  symphony 
That  throbs  from  life  against  death's  barrier 

bars. 
60 


THE    DAY    IS    DONE 

What  is  the  music  of  the  song  of  life  ? 

What  is  its  theme,  —  of  heaven  or  of  hell  ? 
We  know  not  :  joy  and  grief  and  love  and 

strife 

Are  mingled  there,  nor  shall  the  answer  be 
Till    the  great  trumpet  of  God's  doom 

shall  tell 
The  thundered  keynote  to  the  land  and  sea. 

THE    DAY    IS    DONE 

A  BAR  of  cloud  in  the  flaming  west,  — 
The  wind  from  the  west,  the  wind 
from  the  suny 
And  the    black  sea  foaming  from   crest  to 

crest, 
The  day  is  done.    The  day  is  done. 

Make  sail  upon  the  swaying  mast, 
Into  the  night  to  meet  the  sun. 

Sail  !  for  the  darkness  gathers  fast, 

And  the  day  is  done.  The  day  is  done. 

Leave  hope  behind,  with  her  that  is  dead. 

Into  the  dark,  Farewell,  O  sun! 
Forget  her  eyes  and  her  golden  head. 

The  day  is  done.   The  day  is  done. 

61 


SONGS    OF    EXILE 

God  of  the  sad,  guide  thou  my  feet, 

The  wind  blows  red  from  the  sinking 
sun, 

When  shall  my  heart  forget  my  sweet  ? 
Now  the  day  is  done,  now  the  day  is  done. 

"Thou  shalt  sail  the  swaying  world  of  sea, 
And  breast  the  rising  of  the  sun, 

But  the  grief  of  her  eyes  shall  follow  thee, 
Though  the  day  is  done,  though  the  day 
is  done. 

"Thou    shalt  wander  wide    from    place  to 

place. 

Ah,  God,  the  risings  of  the  sun! 
And  everywhere  thou  shalt  see  her  face." 
Ah,   God,  ah,   God,  were  the  day  but 
done! 

Away,  away,  up  the  ridging  sea, 

What   help   in  the  sea,  what  help   in 

the  sun  ? 

Perhaps  in  death  she  will  come  to  thee  — 
When  the  day  is  done,  when  the  day  is 

done. 
62 


THE  FIRST  EDITION  OF  THIS  BOOK  CONSISTS 
OF  FIVE  HUNDRED  COPIES  WITH  THIRTY- 
FIVE  ADDITIONAL  COPIES  ON  HAND-MADE 
PAPER  PRINTED  DURING  OCTOBER  1896  BY  THE 
ROCKWELL  AND  CHURCHILL  PRESS  OF  BOSTON 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


in  C    /U 

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